


A Very DOOUL Christmas

by sabershadowkat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabershadowkat/pseuds/sabershadowkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Time in the Days of Our Unlives universe<br/>and several authors got together for some Angel/Spike fun!<br/>Chapters 21 & 22 written by Saber<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very DOOUL Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Days of Our Unlives](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/133148) by Donna and Jessica. 



**O Come, All Ye Faithful**

"A tree?" I say increduously. "Have you lost your effin' mind?"

He simply quirks an eyebrow at me. "What? It's Christmas. We have to have a tree. We can put it here in the lobby... Cordy said she'd buy some decorations. It'll be fun."

His secretary stands behind him impatiently, car keys in hand. "Spike, come on. The plant nursery closes at seven."

"But... but..." I sputter. "It's just not *right.*

Some vampires won't celebrate Christmas; some because it's too human, some because it's too Christian, and some because it's "gotten too commercial." I myself don't mind it all that much; it has its perks. Chocolate, for one. "A Charlie Brown Christmas," for another. But... this... this is too much. I never thought I'd see the Scourge of Europe decorating a Christmas tree.

If he takes to singing Christmas carols, I'm outta here.

"This is a mistake," I say firmly. "It's gonna end badly. I just *know* it."

"Enough," he says, taking me by the back of the neck. "In the car."

"I swear," Cordelia says with a sigh. "You'd think you two had never celebrated Christmas before."

Oh, but we have...

I turn towards my Sire with a lascivious grin, and he smirks back.

He remembers.

~::1881::~

I'm going to kill him.

No, no, death would be too merciful. I'm going to find one of those beds of nails, tie him on it, then jump up and down on his chest. While he's tied there I'll shave that caterpillar masquerading as a moustache off his soddin upper lip. And his head! I'll shave his poncy head! Wait, no, better! I'll dip the bastard's manhood in a jar of holy water and watch it burn off. Yeah. That'd teach him to tie me up  
and leave.

I can't believe the effin' tosser still hasn't come back. I'm all for a bit of perv, but this is too bloody much. My wrists hurt, my legs are cramped from being tied like this, and I think I chipped a fang trying to chew through the red ribbon keeping me hostage.

The night had started out all right. Angelus and I had separated to hunt, and I'd fed on a bunch of carollers before returning to our flat. It was Christmas Eve, and the ponce had indicated that he'd had a gift for me. I, being the utter wanker that I am, had believed him.

Angelus had returned to the flat about an hour after I did, snow flakes in his shoulder-length hair and on his lashes. His nose and cheeks had been wind-stung and pink, and there'd been a devilish twinkle in his dark eyes. I should've known by the smile he'd given me that it all signalled my effin doom.

"T' the bedroom wit' you, William," he'd said, waving a spool of red ribbon in the direction of the bedroom. "And we'll have a bit o' Christmas fun."

Like a pillock, I'd shrugged and retreated to the bedroom as bade. When I'd gotten home earlier, I'd stoked the fire and the bedroom was toasty warm. I'd removed my boots and my suspenders hung around my waist. Quickly, before the great poof joined me, I'd fixed the blankets on the wrought-iron lattice-work bed, making sure the down pillows had been perfectly aligned with the ornate headboard. Angelus was a neat bastard, and if he saw that I'd straightened up, I'd be rewarded in the most pleasurable of ways.

Course if I'd have known he was gonna tie me to this fucking thing, I'd have used more feather pillows. I think I got a permanent crick in my neck. It'll serve the ponce right to have to walk around with his hunchback Childe for all eternity.

He'd appeared in the bedroom doorway, bootless and jacketless, smile still playing about his lips. "Strip, William," he'd ordered, leaning against the doorframe to watch, like the soddin' voyeur he is.

Off had went my clothes without argument, because well, I'm kind of easy, and damnit, the old sod had seemed to be in such a jolly mood. I'd hoped that perhaps I'd get to fuck him as my Christmas gift, like last year, and my prick'd been at full attention all evening. It'd bobbed and the tip glistened in the firelight after I'd removed my trousers, and out of the corner of my eye, I'd seen him lick his lips.

"On the bed," Angelus'd instructed, his voice a tad lower than usual. "Arms straight out t' the side."

The top blanket had been cool despite the fire heating the room. I'd laid down as told, arms straight out on either side of me. Angelus had come over to the bed, unwinding some red ribbon from the spool he'd still held in his hands. When he'd started to tie my wrists to the headboard, I'd bit my tongue to keep from voicing my disappointment. If I'd been going to fuck him, I'd wanted my hands free to touch that gorgeous body of his.

A two-foot length of ribbon had attached each of my wrists to the headboard, my arms still straight out to the sides, the ribbon cut with Angelus's boot knife. Then the bastard had smiled at me, and had pushed my legs out and back, securing them one at a time with another long piece of ribbon to the headboard. I'd been tied open, indecently exposed, and I'd been a bit uncomfortable in such a vulnerable position.

But Angelus had still been smiling, and it hadn't been as if I couldn't break the thin red ribbon... or so I'd thought.

Apparently, my full frontal lobotomy had occured the night before without my recollection.

After Angelus had finished tying me up, he'd cut a short length of the red ribbon and set the spool and his boot knife on the table beside the bed. Then he'd climbed fully onto the bed, kneeling between my spread legs. He'd ran his fingers down my thighs, grin in place, and my cock'd jumped in anticipation. When his fist had closed around my aching length, I'd moaned.

He'd stroked me a few times, and it'd felt so bloody good, but then he'd stopped way, way, way too soon. My eyes, which I'd closed, had popped open and I'd stared incredulously at him as he'd started to tie the length of red ribbon around my stiff manhood. "What the hell are you doing?" I'd asked.

"Wrapping me Christmas gift," Angelus had answered, looping the ribbon into a neat bow. He'd patted my decorated cock when he'd finished, climbed off the bed, and started for the door.

"Angelus!" I'd exclaimed. "You're not going to leave me like this?!"

Angelus had turned in the doorway, winked at me, then pulled the bedroom door shut, leaving me tied to the bloody bed. The effin' bastard.

I'd laid here for an hour, waiting for him to return, before I'd started trying to free myself. That's when I'd learned the red ribbon was made of steel or something, because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't break it.

Beyond the heavy draperies, I could sense that the sun was rising. Un-fucking-believable. The prick had left me tied up all night, and I hadn't even done anything to deserve it. When I get free, I'm going to use my railroad spike to give him a new arsehole, in a completly unnecessary anatomical position.

The door burst open suddenly, startling me. And look, it's the soon to be multiple-holed fucker himself, wearing a white nightshirt and carrying a thin white box and a ragdoll, of all soddin' things. A ragdoll. Well, that explains it, he's gone round the bend. I blame Dru.

His hair is perfect, of course, but his eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open. "Look what Father Christmas brought me!" he exclaimed in a little boy's voice. "Me very own fucktoy!"

I am going to kill him.

*~*~*~*~*

He looks like he wants to kill me.

I can imagine what he's thought of to do to me for leaving him tied up all night. Most likely, it involves holy water and my manhood. Not that he'd ever go through with any of his torturous plans. I am his sire, and he'd never hurt me, no matter what I did to him. Never.

Besides, the ribbon is indestructable.

I'm dressed in a nightshirt and carrying a ragdoll that'd belonged to the former residents of this flat, my costume for the Christmas play I'm putting on. I hadn't told William that he'd had the lead role as the gift Father Christmas left for me, but he probably wouldn't have played if I had.

What? I can enjoy Christmas as much as the Scourge of any continent!

Besides, I've been infected by the Holiday Spirit. Hunting's been at its finest, William's been keeping me on my toes and making unlife enjoyable, and I'd found enchanted red ribbon when I was out looking for a Christmas trinket for my boy. William is a tad insecure when it comes to my affections for him, so I like to reassure him a few times a year by giving him a gift of some sort.

Last Christmas, I'd allowed him to take me. It'd been surprisingly pleasurable, so later today I plan on letting him take me again. Maybe twice, since I'm in such a good mood. Maybe I'll even put bells on his toes first.

I shut the bedroom door and cross to my murderous-looking childe. I can see teeth marks in the ribbon and bruises around his wrists from his struggles. The enchanted red ribbon can only be cut, it cannot be broken. Guess I should have mentioned that before I left. But then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of watching him struggle. God rest ye, merry he looks good when he's angered. Even at me. But now his cock is limp and the bow I'd tied is half-off. I shall have to fix that.

I toss the ragdoll to the floor as I sit on the bed. William's position is really quite scandalous. The nightshirt I'm wearing tents as I harden. I've never told him and I never will, but William can arouse me simply by walking into a room. I don't know what it is about him. Most of the time, he drives me insane. He's demanding, unruly, insouciant, and has the attention span of a six-year-old. At times, the intelligence of one, too.

But sometimes... sometimes William smiles at me, his blue eyes alight with happiness, and I get a pang in the center of my chest that makes me want to take him in my arms and never let go.

Right now, though, his eyes are dark with anger and the promise of revenge, and it's managing to arouse my ardor even further. I reach out to cup his balls, and he wiggles, trying to move away from my touch, his mouth curved in a sullen pout. "Don't touch me," he grumbles.

"And why no'?" I ask, fondling him. His penis swells, the ribbon tightening around it. "Aren't I allowed t' play wit' me own Christmas gift?"

"No," William scowls. "Now, let me free."

I tisk. Always demanding, this one. "I dinna think so, William. At least, no' until I've finished wit' you."

"Then fuck me already," he says. "My bloody legs are cramped."

"Patience, boy," I tell him as I retie the bow on his hardened shaft. "'Tis Christmas, an' I have a gift for you." I see happiness flash across William's features before he hides his delight back beneath his scowl.

Smiling, I open the thin white box I'd set beside me on the bed. Nestled inside are three dozen rum balls, softened from sitting out in front of the fire in the other room. The chocolate sweets had been made just yesterday by a local confectioner, right before I'd killed him.

I change my position so that I'm kneeling on the bed between my childe's spread legs. I pluck one of the chocolates from the box, lean forward, and press it against William's lips. An adorable furrow appears between his brows before he opens his mouth and accepts the treat.

"Good?" I ask, rubbing the melted chocolate from his lower lip. He nods as he chews, his unhappy statement relaxing into one of wariness. I bend down and place a soft kiss on his chocolatey lips, then sit back on my heels. I feed him another rum ball, then another, briefly wondering how many it would take to make him tipsy. The syrupy alcohol in the center of the sweet was remarkably potent. I'd seen the staunchest Irish drinkers succumb to the effects of too many rum balls. In fact, I plan on becoming a bit tipsy myself.

The chocolates on the edges of the box are the softest, from the fireplace heat. William's mouth is smeared dark, begging for me to lick him clean. And I will, as soon as I...

"Angelus!" William gasps, jerking against his restraints as I push a soft rum ball into his body. The chocolate coats his insides, and his velvety channel spasms around my finger as I push the sweet deep inside of him.

With a mischievous smile on my face, I push a second rum ball up his ass. Then a third and a fourth. William's body is warm enough to melt the sweets, and, in a few minutes, he will be coated in slick chocolate and rum syrup.

He looks embarrassed when I suck on the chocolate-covered finger I used to push the rum balls into him. So adorable. I pluck another sweet from the box, lean over him, and rub it against his lips. "Open up, William," I sing softly.

He nips at my finger and thumb when he accepts the chocolate. I chuckle before swooping down to capture his lips. My tongue chases the sweet, sweeping along the insides of his mouth. He tucks the chocolate in his cheek like a chipmunk and kisses me back. Our tongues meet in a sugary tangle.

I pull away from him, sucking on his lower lip as I do so. His blue eyes now reflect pure desire when I meet his gaze. The scents of chocolate, rum, and arousal fill my senses. My loins are heavy, and the loose nightshirt I'm wearing suddenly seems too constricting. I sit back on my heels and rip it off over my head, my chocolatey fingers staining the white material brown.

William makes a throaty sound as my body is bared to him. I gaze hungrily at his decadent position, his legs spread wide open, his puckered entry fully exposed and leaking rum and chocolate. His hard shaft is wrapped in the red ribbon, twitching under my heady stare.

I slide down on the bed, push my hands under his ass, and lift him to my mouth. "Merry Christmas, William," I say, and begin to feast.

*~*~*~*~*

"Gggggaaaaaahhh," I think I yell as his lips close over my hole. I can feel his tongue wiggle into me, lapping at the chocolate and rum juice.

Angelus is making slurping and sucking sounds, and its adding to the lewdness of what's happening to me. In the many years we've been together, we've used a lot of things , including chocolate, but he has never tongue-fucked me. Ever. It's... ahhh... very nice... bloody hell... yesss... "Ggggaaaaahhh..."

*~*~*~*~*

William tastes exquisite, bittersweet and chocolatey. I think I am getting a bit tipsy. If I'd known he'd taste this good, I would have done this long ago. I could spend hours right here, tounging him.

He's making the most beautiful sounds of pleasure. Moans, breathy gasps, cries of my name. He's even started to pant.

If I go by the sounds and the way his body is shaking in my hands, I'd say that being on the receiving end feels unbelievably good. Maybe I should allow him to do this to me. There's still a half box of chocolate...

*~*~*~*~*

"Angelus," I pant, writhing against his mouth. "Please, Angelus, touch me."

My cock is swollen dark purple, clashing with the red of the ribbon tied around it. I ache so badly. I need him to touch me, stroke me, allow me to come. Tears sting the corners of my eyes. "Fuck, Angelus, pleeeeease," I beg.

He moves suddenly, rising up over me and smashing his mouth to mine. The very tongue that was driving me insane slides between my lips and engages my tongue in a fierce battle. His thick cock fills me in a single thrust, his pelvis slapping against my arse.

He starts pounding against me, shallow, fast strokes that don't hit my prostate. Unfaiiiir, I wail in my mind.

As if he'd heard me, Angelus breaks the kiss, shifts his weight to one arm, and uses his free hand to pull the ribbon off my cock. It throbs when he touches it. "Angelus," I beg again in a harsh whisper.

Then his hand is around me, gripping me in a firm fist, and he starts to stroke me in time with his thrusts. I throw my head back and cry, "Yeeeeeess!"

I come within seconds, splashing my semen over my chest and abdomen. My eyes are squeezed tightly shut as my body shudders long and hard. I hear Angelus shout my name and he slams flush against my backside. I can feel his cock pulsing as he fills me.

He collapses on top of me, panting harshly in my ear. I'm panting, too, and my mouth has gone dry. I could really use another one of those chocolates.

*~*~*~*~*

After a few moments, I raise myself up to look at William. He meets my eyes and gives me a dazed grin. "Pop me another sweet, will you mate?" he says.

"Certainly," I tell him. "But no' too many more, o' there willna be any left for you t' use on me."

The expression on his face is priceless. I laugh.

This is going to be a fun Christmas.

*~*~*~*~*

Well, maybe I won't kill him.

***

**Happy Holidays**

I can't believe I let him talk me into coming here. I had sworn after the last time that I would never set a single foot inside this godforsaken place of consumer worship again. It's an evil place, a place that makes Hell look like Paradise Island.

Promise me a bit of ass, and I can be led anywhere. Even back to the Mall.

Gods, I'm easy.

"Why are we here again?" I ask as that blond thing I try so hard to pretend doesn't exist drags me through the automatic doors.

Spike stops suddenly, gives me a look (the normal ‘I can't believe I know you' look, of which I wear constantly around him), and waves his arm towards the center of the mall. "Are you blind as well as dumb?"

I look towards the center of the mall and see... people. Lots and lots of stinky, smelly, whiny, crying, big, little, in-between people. And a reindeer. "A reindeer?"

"They have a reindeer?" Spike bounces up on his toes to see over all those people's heads. He looks and sounds like an excited five-year-old... which is normal. My childe would make a wonderful kindergartner. I wonder if any school would take him, like, say, a boarding school in Alaska?

"Yes, they have a reindeer," I tell him, easily seeing over the people's heads. It's great to be tall, a fact that I don't mind rubbing into his face often. "They also have a Santa, some crabby looking elves, a little train ride, and the tackiest Christmas tree I've ever seen. Orange aluminum?"

Spike smacks me on the shoulder. I glare at him, but he only gives me this expectant look in return, like I'm supposed to tell him the answer to what the square root of negative one is. Which is nothing. It's an imaginary number. How do I know? I was in Hell, remember? Math is a required course.

But knowing the square root of negative one doesn't tell me what Spike wants, and he's starting to get that ‘I'm getting annoyed and am going to make a scene' look. All right, what was it that Inigo said? Or was it the Man in Black? Or Men in Black? Something about the beginning? And I can't believe I'm quoting movies in my head to solve a problem. I have got to stop watching those DVDs repeatedly with my insufferable childe.

Ahem. Forgive me, all intelligent beings out there. "Go back to the beginning." Why are we at the mall? I don't know. Ask the bleached moron with the look. "Why are we here?" I ask.

"Why... we...," he stammers like he can't believe I asked. It'd be kind of cute if the thought of ‘cute' and ‘Spike' in the same sentence didn't give me gas. "It's Christmas!" he finally gets out.

"Yeah? And?" Oh, looky, I've dumbfounded him again. This is sort of fun.

Spike's face screws up in a cute little sneer (urp, sorry, gas). "Don't tell me you and Little Miss Slayer didn't celebrate Christmas."

Let's see, how did I spend my last Christmas in Sunnydale? I was terrorized by The First and tried to kill myself on Christmas morning, but was prevented by a miracle-slash-freak snow. "Not really," I reply.

He shakes his head, latches onto my arm again, and drags me further into the Dreaded Mall. "Christmas, you great gormless git, is when you buy a few trinkets for your family and friends, and a ton of gifts for your lover."

Ah, I get it now. Spike wants presents. What was I thinking earlier about him being five? "And I take it you're going to drag me around to the different stores, point out what you want, and I'm supposed to buy it for you."

"No," Spike stopped walking/dragging me along. "We're gonna split up and meet at the Food Court at first closing announcement. You get stuff for me and that crackpot team of yours, and  
I'll get stuff for you."

Why do I get the feeling this is a bad idea? "Maybe we should stick together, Spike..."

But Spike is already striding away from me, his black duster billowing around his legs, blond hair gleaming harshly in the artificial mall light. I watch after him, wondering if getting a little bit of that ass is going to be worth the headache of shopping for Christmas presents. Just before he's out of sight, he turns around and yells back at me, "And don't forget to wrap ‘em, pillock!"

Oh Gods, someone, anyone — help?

*~*~*~*~*

The wanker is still standing there looking like a martyr about to be stoned when I remind him about wrapping my presents. All that black, hulking broodiness standing in a sea of multicolored winter hats and coats, like a lone licorice jellybean in a jar full of Jelly Belly's. Hmm, I think I'll stop by the candy store first and stock up on sweets. Gotta have the energy to shop, shop, shop.

I get swallowed by the crowd of shoppers as I head for the escalators. After a bit of jostling, I hop on the escalator to the second floor and scan the crowd of moneyspenders. My sire is no longer there, which means he either started shopping or went home. I'd place even money on both. Oh, look, there's the reindeer! Maybe I should get one of those for the office, jolly the place up a bit.

My espresso buzz is still going strong. I might have to get Cordelia a little something for getting me a cup and not squealing when I drank Angel's Poncy-blend cappuccino, too. Nah. I'm not that nice. Leave it to the poofter to buy gifts for the help. I'm here to shop for one person and one person only — me.

The candy store is packed full of rugrats when I get there, but with a little growl and a terrified scream, I make it to the Jelly Belly's unscathed. Fill up a bag, pop a few in my mouth, and now here I am waiting in line to pay. That's right, ladies and germs, I am about to pay for my own sweets.

With Angel's credit card, of course. After all, what respecting vampire actually pays for stuff? (I said ‘respecting,' not ‘woe-is-me-soul-having'.) Not I. But unless I want to wait another century to shag the great poof, I must follow some of his rules; one of which is: ‘thou shalt not steal from the stores when I have a credit card you can steal from my pocket and use.'

Is having a tumble with my sire really worth standing in line to pay for a pound of jellybeans, using his credit card or not? Truth? It's worth standing in line for three hours, surrounded by whining, screaming brats, to pay for a pound of jellybeans. Not that I'd ever admit that to anyone unless I was about to rip their throats out (which is another no-no on Angel's never-ending List O' Rules: ‘thou shalt not rip anyone's throat out, especially not Cordelia's, no matter how much she deserves it'.)

I like how the store personnel don't even check the signatures anymore. Angel printed his name so that any one of his topnotch staff could use the card, but you'd think these bumbletwits would bother to see if the card matched the signature. If it was my credit card that had been stolen...

Wait a mo', what the hell am I thinking? I wouldn't have a bloody credit card in my name. Only humans and ensouled vampires with poncy hair have credit cards.

I shove a handful of jellybeans into my mouth as I head out of the candy store, Angel's credit card and receipt in my pocket. The sugar explodes on my tongue and makes my teeth tingle.

Next stop: the music store. The Bargain Bin catches my eye when I walk into the lively store, but I'm quickly put off by the glaring yellow and red sign that proclaims: ‘all who actually look through this bin are bog-trotting toffs who are still stuck in the seventeenth century.' Right. Miscellaneous Rock, here I come.

*~*~*~*~*

I wonder what Spike's doing? Was he actually serious when he said we were buying gifts for each other? Like a real couple? And why did I shudder and feel mushy inside at the same time when I thought that? I think I need an antacid.

The mall is packed. There are more human beings in here right now than I usually see in a year. I've spotted a few ‘good' demons, their telltale horns and pointed ears hidden under ski-caps. No vampires, though, except this stupid one and the peroxide blond wandering around by himself.

Maybe I'd better find out where Mall Security is located, because I have a feeling I'm going to end up there before the night is over.

I suppose, just in case, I'd better buy something for him. I was planning on shopping for my friends' gifts sometime this week, anyway. Tonight's as good as any night.

But what if the idiot is pulling my chain? What if, come Christmas Eve or morning or whenever we decide to exchange gifts, he yells, "Fooled you!" in a Rick Moranis-like voice, and, by God, I have got to stop watching movies with him.

Okay, let's think. Ten to one, Spike just wants presents and has no intention of giving something to me in return. Unless it's a gag gift. Or a gift that he knows I'll hate, but he likes so I end up giving it to him. So, assuming all three, what should I get Spike?

Socks.

Jeans.

Tee-shirts.

A pair of pajama bottoms that aren't ‘for foofy arses, like yer majesty.'

How boring. Heh.

*~*~*~*~*

They should have shopping buggies in here. Or at least some troll to follow you around and hold your stuff. I thought that's what they paid the pimply blokes in the bright blue vests to do, but it turns out they are the "Music Professionals," capitalized as necessary. Bunch of overpaid teenaged whelps is what they are. Wonder how high they can sing if I shove a CD up their skinny arses?

One of them is following me around, a tall, gangly-lookin' fellow staring down his hooked beak at me. I know it's because I'm sticking CDs in my pockets like they're free for the taking. Which I wouldn't be doing if they had a soddin' buggy. No worries, though. I'm not about to nick the bloody things. Angel has it drilled into my head that I have to pay for what I want. (See waiting in line at the candy store for the reason why.)

My pockets are pretty much jammed and I have as many as I can hold in each hand. A cool grand's worth, possibly. Angel'll probably kill me. Oh well, what else is new?

The Bargain Bin catches my eye again as I make my way to the checkout counter, my shadow trailing behind me. There's undoubtably a few CDs in there the poof would like. Too bad my hands are full.

"You know," I say when it's my turn at the counter. "You lot really should have a buggy." I plunk the CDs in my hands onto the gray surface and start removing the ones from my pockets. "Us ‘big spenders' like to be pampered an' all." Out comes the credit card, and — ka-ching — look at the little manager girlie's eyes light up.

After an infinitely long number of minutes later (because it's so effin' complicated to work those CD-security cases), I sign Angel's name (thank you for not looking, twit), pocket the credit card, and head out of the store toting a heavy-ass bag. I'm afraid of those locker things -- have you seen some of the people who use them? -- which means a quick nip out to the Angelmobile is in order.

Wait, there's a Suncoast Video. I wonder if they have those DVDs I wanted in stock.

*~*~*~*~*

"Explain to me again how this works," I say, disbelieving what the matronly salesclerk, Madge, had told me.

"Of course, dear." Madge says with a smile and a pat on my hand. She smooths the plastic wrap bag over the Easy-to-Read instructions to make it easier to read, and begins to retell me about my glorious finding.

I hadn't known they'd made such a thing. I had been simply lost in the department store, having been told by the Men's Department salesclerk that the store had gift-wrapping in the Service Department. The Service Department was located "throughWomen's,leftatthelingerie,pasttheinfantdepartment,downthesamehallastheoptomologists,andwehaveafortypercentoffsaleoneyeglassesifyou'reinterested,andcanIhelpthenextperson,please?"

Obviously, I'd gotten lost. I had ended up wandering around the department store for half an hour before I'd stumbled into Linens and Bedding... and onto something so damn wonderful I'd almost got a happy.

Dual-Controlled Electric Blankets.

I had barely refrained myself from dancing in the aisle. They made blankets that heated up. They made blankets that heated up only on one side of the bed, leaving the other side comfortably cool. I'm getting hard again just thinking about it.

No more Spike fighting me for the blankets.

No more Spike playing with the thermostat.

No more Spike whining about it being too cold.

Peaceful sleep.

Yep, I'm hard.

"I'll take it," I tell Madge when she finishes her instructions. I must have sounded either desperate or super-excited, because she gives me a sly motherly wink.

"I'd say your wife was the one with the constantly cold feet, am I right? Sticking them against your legs or your back to warm them?" Madge says.

Spike, my wife.

Oh, Gods, I think I'm going to piss myself from laughing.

Madge is shaking her head and clicking her tongue at me. "Sorry," I apologize once I can speak again. "Yes, my -- snort -- wife -- snort -- is the one who's always cold. It's just so funny how you nailed the problem right on the head, and you don't even know me."

"I've been married for forty-seven years, dear," Madge says, patting my hand again. "It's easy to tell who the newlyweds are."

Tears. I have tears this time. Oh... help... laughing this hard hurts... I wonder if Spike made a beautiful bride? Oh hell, don't think like that or you'll never stop laughing, Angel.

Luckily, Madge had turned away to ring up my purchase and run my credit card through. As I'd found out in the Men's Department -- and I hadn't been surprised -- Spike had absconded with the one I allow any of my team to use. Good thing the Happy Housewife didn't know about and/or didn't care that I had a second credit card.

*~*~*~*~*

I should have taken Angel's second credit card, too. I think this one's close to its max. Who would've thought that a couple of CDs and DVDs could cost so much? This is why I hate paying for stuff, you run out of money.

I had stopped by Hallmark to buy a few of those jumbo gift bags, crinkly paper, and ribbon. In the carpark, I transfer my gifts to those bags, tie ‘em up pretty, and write Angel's name on the tiny gift cards, before hiding the whole lot in the boot of Angel's Penis Extension.

I head back into the mall. I suppose I should find a little something for the Hair Club President before I run out of dosh. With all the crap I got for myself, the probability of him blowing his follicles is high. If I give him something mushy and sickeningly sweet — His Souliness loves that shit — he'll let me live to listen to my new CDs, maybe even sit and watch the new DVDs with me... until the credit card bill comes. Hmm, maybe I should get a big little something.

But it's not like I really care that Angel will be none-too-pleased that I've maxxed his credit card. I only hang around the old sod because he's got a bloody great mouth and a better arse. And the things that man can do with his hands...

I adjust myself and sneer at the disgusted look I get from a mother dragging her toddler through the carpark. I think I have about forty-five minutes before I'm supposed to meet the Irish nonce. Forty-five minutes to find him a— hello, what have we here?

The small shop is tucked into a corner, down a short hall that leads to the shoe repair shop and an artsy-fartsy gallery-type store. The only reason I noticed it is because of the bitter aroma that drifted from the shop to my sensitive nose. It's one of my favorite scents — pure, hard, undiluted liquor.

And that's what the shop is filled with — bottles and bottles of liquor. Imports, labels I haven't seen in over a century, all strategically displayed so the low lighting emphasizes the full, rich colors of the alcohol in the bottles. Expensive liquor.

An impeccably dressed, silver-haired human comes out from behind the hardwood counter to smack my fingers and shoo me out of the shop. Before he can say a word, I hold out Angel's credit card. "Do you have a bottle of Tigris?"

"I shall need to see some picture identification, first," the man states, snatching the card from my hand.

I glare at the toff. I'd like to tear his head off and fill Angel's boot with the contents of the shop, but since I'm following my sire's bloody rules... I dig the fake driver's license out of my pocket and hand it to him. It's neat what you can do with a computer these days, innit?

"Tigris, you say?" The human is smiling now. Stupid prig. "Yes, we do have a bottle. If you'd like to wait at the counter, I shall fetch it for you."

Woof, woof. Rolling my eyes, I head to the counter. Not a speck of dust on it, just like everything else in the shop that reeks money. Angel's type of shop. Or rather, Angel's credit card's type of shop.

"Would you like me to wrap this as a gift, sir?" the silver-haired man asks as he returns with my liquor.

I grab the bottle from his hand. "No," I tell him as I carefully examine the label. Bugger me if I'm going to spend the poof's money on a fake.

Certain that I'm not about to get gypped, I nod to him and he rings up my purchase. I arch my brow when I see the total — Angel's credit card is maxxed for sure, now — and print Angel's name on the charge slip like a good boy. Then I rip the cap off the Tigris and down half the bottle without moving from the counter.

"Oh fuck, that's good," I purr, giving the bottle a half-lidded, loving look. Nice Tigris. Lovely Tigris. My Tigris.

I take another long swallow. Ahh, fuck me. I could kill for this... but I didn't. Maybe that should be my Christmas gift to Angel—

Oh shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Angel's gift! I maxxed the credit card and I don't have a gift for my big-hearted, soulful sire. Good going, mate. I am never going to get laid again.

I cap the Tigris, set it down, and begin to empty my pockets. The silver-haired toff's eyebrows steadily climb as the pile of crap on the counter grows. When my pockets are finally emptied, I can't believe how light my duster is. Maybe I should empty it more often.

I start separating the crumpled dollars and change from the rest of the junk, which I shove back into my bottomless pockets. Once finished, I stare at my measly pile of money.

Five dollars.

And fifty-seven cents.

Bollocks.

*~*~*~*~*

Armed with clear, concise directions from Madge, I head to the gift wrap section. And I still get lost. Fighting evil is my forte, not running through the department store maze. Somehow, instead of the Infants Department, I end up in Electronics. Gizmos and gadgets and other noisy things guaranteed to drive me crazy and turn Spike into a giggling, grinning loon. Maybe I'm in the Infants Department after all.

Around a couple corners and halfway down a hidden aisle full of blaring televisions, I see a name-tagged salesman hooking up some sort of box to a small screen tv. "Hey, can you help me?" I ask him.

He looks up in a panic, jumps to his feet, and shushes me. "Shh!" He glances around frantically. "Did anyone see you come this way?"

"Uh," I look around, too, "not that I know of."

"Good," he breathes a sigh of relief. "We only have five. I want to get the demo hooked up so that I can play it once, at least, before it's sold."

"Five?" I ask, confused.

"Yeah." Mark, according to his nametag, pats the top of a box on a shelf. "We're lucky we got any. Our boss put us on the list of distributors for these babies, and now five lucky sons-of-guns will get to take ‘em home."

I look at the demo model Mark was setting up. A box, several wires, and two odd-shaped remote-like objects. Although it's a different brand name, it reminds me of that annoying video game thing we have that Spike is obsessed with.

Sigh.

*~*~*~*~*

Five dollars AND fifty-seven cents.

Five DOLLARS and fifty-seven cents.

Five dollars and fifty-seven CENTS.

FIVE dollars and FIFTY-SEVEN cents.

No matter how I think it, it's still just a measly five, plus change. Bloody hell, my unlife sucks. Why, why, why did I have to go and start up a relationship-like-ick-thing with my soul-having tosser of a sire? Why couldn't I find a nice, normal, evil vampire to share bodily fluids with?

Argh.

Well, at least the rest of the Tigris was good, and the bottle made a lovely smashing sound when I threw it against the carpark wall. But I'm down to my last cigarette and I still only have five- fucking-dollars and fifty-seven cents. I know there has to be a way for me to get Angel a gift without breaking his soddin' rules. I sigh. I suppose I could always return the DVDs...

What the bugger am I thinking?! Return the DVDs?! Am I out of my effin' mind? I'm evil! Why the hell do I care about giving gifts? I'm a selfish bastard!

I stalk over to the car, open the boot, take out a pen, cross off Angel's name and replace it with my own. There. Buying gifts to myself using someone else's stolen credit card. That's a crime in America, and since I'm evil it's what I'm supposed to do. I'm not supposed to fret over having only five bucks to purchase a Christmas gift for the hulking, brooding, annoying, smelly, foofy-haired arsebandit, who's goal in life is to make mine as miserable and unvampire-like as possible. He's always trying to control me -- me! -- and has no taste in... anything. He makes this stupid giggle when we're watching videos and he finds something funny, like he's trying not to laugh or enjoy himself. He's got more beauty supplies than Vidal Sassoon. He hogs the covers!

I have five dollars and fifty-seven cents. I'm going to buy myself a snack at the Food Court.

*~*~*~*~*

Spike is sitting on a planter, eating a giant pretzel and gulping from a giant drink when I meet him at the Food Court. All of my wrapped gifts, including the few for my unconventional family, are stashed in trunk of my car beside Spike's gift bags (I was good, I didn't peek).

"‘Allo, luv. Get all your shopping done?" he asks me, a crooked smile on his face.

"Bought, wrapped, and in the car," I reply. "You?"

He shrugs, takes a bite of his mustard-covered pretzel, and says with his mouth full, "Was hard, but I managed."

"And how many of the gifts you bought are for yourself?" I snicker when he tries to give me an innocent look.

"Who me? Would I do a rotten thing like that?"

"Yes."

Spike beams. "Good to see someone around here remembers that I'm evil."

Evil has a mustard mustache.

I snort back a laugh. Sometimes, Spike is just so... cute.

"Angel, did you just belch?"

**End**

 


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